


The Loaning of Books Between Friends

by Magnetism_bind



Series: The Friendship Verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Early Days, Flirting, Friendship, Lust at First Sight, M/M, the appreciation of books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Thomas loans books to James in an attempt to get to know his new liaison better.





	

The first time the lieutenant is in Thomas’s study he can’t help staring at all the books.

Thomas notices of course. “Do you like to read?” He asks, intrigued by the notion. It would give them some common ground at least, something to start with. He knows the lieutenant is intelligent and well-educated in spite of his background, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he reads purely for enjoyment. Thomas has hopes though.

“Do you find it strange that someone with my lack of education would do so?” McGraw replies, still gazing at the books.

Thomas stares at him wordlessly. _He thinks me a snob_ , he realizes. Perhaps that isn’t entirely to be unexpected but at the same time he’s still taken aback that this man should be judging him.

When he says nothing further, McGraw looks up sharply. “Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn.”

“No, no,” Thomas murmurs, then, “You think me a snob, don’t you?” He’s not sure what prompts him to voice the thought aloud, but he does.

“I don’t mean to, my lord,” McGraw mutters, but it’s a feeble attempt to disguise the meaning and they both know it.

McGraw pauses. “Truly, I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that. If you wish me to speak to the admiral about appointing a new liaison, I’m sure he can assign someone…better tempered to work with you.”

“No, I want you.” Thomas says absently. He wants to see where this goes.

McGraw flushes slightly, and that precisely is why. Thomas wants to see more of the man’s true face, his personality as it occasionally slips free of the mask of naval training and of personal discipline.

 “Very well, my lord.”

 *  *  *

At the end of the evening when McGraw starts to take his leave, Thomas again draws his attention to the bookshelves.

“Please.” Thomas gestures to the books. “Would you like to borrow something to occupy your thoughts through the long hours till we meet again?”

There’s that flush again, but McGraw tempers it evenly with his ever-so faintly scornful reply. “Do you think I have little else to fill my hours with than books?"

“I have no idea at all how you fill your hours, Lieutenant.” Thomas reminds him patiently. “I look forward to learning more.”

McGraw simply gives him a short bow and goes without accepting his offer.

 *  *  *

Thomas doesn’t mention it again until the next time when again Lieutenant McGraw’s eyes linger on his bookshelves. Again McGraw refuses and again Thomas doesn’t press him.

 *  *  *

One afternoon James arrives earlier than expected so he’s shown into the study to wait before Lord Hamilton comes down. He takes the opportunity to examine the bookshelves in private. He’s mouthing the titles off silently to himself, making notes on what he’s heard of, what he’s read, what he wants to read. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching.

“See anything you like?”

James straightens up sharply. “What?”

Lord Hamilton smiles at him, and that sends a jolt of weakness straight to James’s knees. He _does_ see something he likes, very much so, but he represses that thought at once. An idle fancy is one thing to entertain when he’ll never encounter a gentleman again, but he has to continue working along Lord Hamilton for an extended period of time. He can’t allow himself to dwell on the way Hamilton speaks of topics that interest him, or the color of his eyes and how they catch the light, or the pleasing curve of his mouth when he smiles. He can’t risk it.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” He begins.

Lord Hamilton shakes his head. “No need. Remember, I asked before if you would like the loan of a book.”

“I wouldn’t wish to presume on the familiarity, my lord.”

“Why not? When I am offering it?”

James swallows. Hamilton is a well-born, well-bred gentleman. There is no way he can know how his words sound, how they make James think of things he should not be thinking of. He looks again on the bookshelves without meaning to, anything to escape that penetrating gaze fixed on him so intently.

He catches sight of _New Atlantis_ and he licks his lips, at the thought of reading it. There’s a spark of pleasure in his eyes at the thought, and he hesitates. Would it be so wrong to accept this? He looks at another book on another shelf, anywhere else. He pauses on a play that he’s heard of, and is frozen in place, gazing at it as he hears Thomas move closer behind him.

“Please.” Thomas says, softly, watching his face, the indecision, not wanting to accept a favor battling with the desire for the book itself, for the words contained within it.

“Allow me.” He takes the play off the shelf, his sleeve brushing James’s arm as he does.

James holds himself stiffly straight, aware of every movement, every breath between them.

“Please.” Thomas repeats, holding out the book. He’s standing so close. James barely lets himself breathe for fear that he will say something inappropriate, like remarking on how lovely Thomas’s eyes are. He’s letting himself think _Thomas_ now, and it’s showing.

Thomas is still holding out the slim volume of _The Fair Penitent_ that he selected _._

Finally James reaches out to take it. “If you’re certain.”

“Of course.” Thomas answers. “I look forward to discussing it with you.”

He bids James farewell and James walks home, the book cradled safely in a pocket of his coat.

*  *  *

James returns the play the next time he visits the Hamilton home and after only some minor prodding on Thomas’s part, he lets himself comment upon it.

“I thought the author held good intentions in his design to entertain, but as for the actions of the characters themselves, well, they weren’t considering the consequences of them fully.”

“Do you always think of such serious matters when you read fiction, Lieutenant?” Thomas is seated by the fire, watching James.

“Of course? Who doesn’t consider the consequences of their actions in all things?” It’s not true. Reading is one of his few pleasures, his way to escape the world while exploring it further, but he can’t let Lord Hamilton know that, he must hold himself to a better standard.

Thomas eyes him curiously. “You think I don’t have to accept the consequences of my actions.” Instead of being offended, he’s apparently amused.

“Not everything is about you, my lord.” James retorts, stung by Thomas reading something that personal into his words. “I was merely…” He trails off as he realizes that Thomas is smiling at him. “You find me amusing.”

“I find the present situation amusing.” Thomas admits. “Please, believe me, Lieutenant, I would never intentionally wound your feelings. It’s only…trust me, when I tell you that I am very aware of the consequences of my actions.”

There’s a note of solemnity to his words that weren’t there before and James’s embarrassed annoyance fades as he gazes at him, and he wants to know what actions Thomas has considered carefully before taking a risk anyway. He can’t bring himself to ask.

 *  *  *

It’s only the third book Thomas has loaned him and James is on his way to the Hamilton home to return it and have dinner with Thomas. His thoughts are full of discussing _New Atlantis_ (Thomas having finally persuaded him to take it home with him) with Thomas, and not much else. Just then a coach whips around the corner as James turns it, nearly striking him as it makes the turn. James jumps back out of the way, but his ankle is clipped by the wheel. He straightens up, wincing at his ankle. And then he stares in horror at the book now lying in a puddle at his feet. He fishes it out, shaking the filthy water from it, but it’s too late. The book is ruined.

James curses himself for being a clumsy oaf, and starts off again with just as determined a stride, if a little pained.

He’ll confess his stupidity to Thomas, who will of course never loan him another book because he can’t be trusted. Moreover, it’s likely he’ll decide if James can’t be trusted with borrowing a book, he can't be trusted aiding him with his work either and he'll ask to have him replaced with a new liaison officer, one far more competent and careful with possessions he’s been loaned.

By the time he reaches the Hamilton residence all thoughts of the contents of the book and the previous enjoyment he's derived from it have fled and James is mired deeply in anxiety and guilt. On top of that, his ankle is throbbing like the devil, but he ignores it as best as he can.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asks as soon as he enters the study. “You look as though the world has ended.”

“I have something I need to confess to you.” James begins. Does he imagine the sudden shift in Thomas’s posture? The renewed focus in his eyes? What does he think James means to say?

“I have to…I didn’t mean…” He falls silent and simply gestures to the book in his hand “I dropped it.”

“You dropped it.” Thomas repeats.

“In a puddle.” James says miserably. In case the full extent of his crime is not realized, he holds it out. A few drops of muddy rainwater drip to the floor and he grimaces at now having damaged the carpet as well.

“You dropped it in a puddle.”

“Yes. It was my own fault. I was distracted when a coach came around the corner and brushed by me.”

“Coach?” Thomas’s expression sharpens. “Were you hurt?”

“No, the wheel caught my ankle, that’s all. It’s nothing. The book.”

“Blast the book.” Thomas says. “Show me your ankle.”

"It's nothing,” James insists, but his next step betrays him as he winces.

“Come here at once.” Thomas holds out his own arm to steady him.

James accepts his help reluctantly, merely resting his hand upon Thomas’s arm, but then Thomas’s arm is around his waist and it’s too close, too intimate.

“I’m quite all right.”

“Stop insisting that and sit down.” Thomas guides him over to the sofa.

“This is unnecessary.” James says. He’s still holding the sodden book, letting it drip over his coat and trousers rather than set it down on the upholstery.

“Will you put that wretched book down?” Thomas takes it from him and tosses it to the floor without another look.

“The carpet.” James begins.

“Damn the carpet.” Thomas bends over his knee to inspect his ankle and James presses himself back against the sofa in an effort to keep himself composed. Having Thomas ( _Lord Hamilton_ , he reminds himself) so near to him in such a position is potentially exceedingly dangerous.

“Your ankle is already swollen.” Thomas says. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut the boot off to tend it.”

“Oh, no,” James says. “I can wrench it off.” He reaches down for his boot, but Thomas’s hand closes on his. His touch is warm and distracting. James forces himself to look away from it and meet Thomas’s gaze.

“You’ll do no such thing. You’ll do far more damage that way.” 

James stares into his eyes, on the edge of drowning in them. “I can’t afford new boots.” He confesses, and then drops his eyes, embarrassed at the whole situation. “But, of course, I will pay for a replacement of the book.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Thomas exclaims. His hand finally lets go of James’s, touching his knee for the briefest moment. “Stay here.”

He rings for a servant to bring ice and clean cloth, while he pours a brandy for James to drink.

James drinks it in subdued silence while Thomas cuts his boot off and sets the ruined boot aside.

Thomas is right. His ankle is already badly swollen and James can’t help wincing as Thomas touches it lightly with his fingertips. And then he swallows the rest of his brandy in a gulp as Thomas removes his stocking and inspects his bare ankle. His fingertips are gentle, but they burn like fire upon James’s skin.

“Let that sit for a while,” Thomas says as he presses ice wrapped in a cloth to James’s ankle. He sits back, gazing up at James. “Now tell me, what were you so distracted about?”

“Mhmm?”

“You said you were distracted when the coach came around the corner.”

“Oh, that. I was thinking about the book.” James mutters.

“Then let us discuss it.” Thomas rises to pour himself a brandy as well, and a second one for James.

“But…”

“Just tell me your thoughts.” Thomas says, so James gives in and does.

 *  *  *

At the end of the night they bind his ankle up and Thomas insists on sending him home in their carriage. James tries to object but Thomas is adamant.

“If you won’t accept it, then I will have to insist you stay the night.” Thomas tells him firmly.

James can’t do that, so finally he accepts the carriage ride and spends it brooding sullenly upon the unfairness of fate.

*  *  *

The next morning there’s a knock at his door. James limps his way to answer it only to find a boy standing there with a large box.

“Compliments of Lord Hamilton, sir.” He holds the box out.

“Oh, christ.” James fishes out his purse for a shilling to give the lad.

The boy shakes his head. “I’ve already been handsomely paid, sir.”

“Of course you have.” James mutters. _Damn Thomas_. “Take it anyway.” He says gruffly, dropping the coin into the boy’s hand.

He eyes the box after the boy goes. He knows what’s in it. He doesn’t want to open it, to accept the charity of a man he admires so much already. It’s not fair. _Damn Thomas._

At last he opens it, and sighs with frustration at the boots inside. They are exquisitely made, of exceedingly good leather and beautiful quality. Far too good for a lieutenant. He strokes the curve of the boot with a fingertip and shuts the box again.

His options as James sees them are to refuse the boots, which he wants to do, or accept them and then pay Thomas back, which will take his wages for quite some time. It will be an awkward repetition every time and James’s whole being wants to wilt at the prospect.

And he still has the damn book to replace as well.

 *  *  *

The book costs him four pounds and three shillings, and an afternoon of walking around bookshops in the rain to find a similar volume. Walking in his stitched together ruined boot of course, because he still hasn’t worn the new ones because he hasn’t decided what he’s going to do yet.

*  *  *

His ankle has mostly recovered during the week, but after the afternoon’s walking, he’s aching slightly when he returns to his rooms. There’s a note waiting.

 _It’s been ages since I’ve had the pleasure of your company. Please come to dinner_. – T.H.

James sighs. If he goes in his old boots, it’ll look pitiful and Thomas will hound him (civilly enough, but hound him nonetheless) until he says something rude out of desperation and Thomas then uses it to convince him to accept the damned boots.

He touches the book and then takes up a pen and writes a careful inscription, ensuring that Thomas will have to accept the gift.

_Apologies for my distracted clumsiness. Please accept this in lieu of a well-worded sentiment. – J.M._

It’s too long. It’s not right, it’s all he can say. It will have to do. He looks at the book and then at the boots and comes at last to a decision.

 *  *  *

When James arrives at the Hamilton’s home that evening he is wearing the new boots. Thomas is unable to hide the sheer pleasure in his eyes as he greets him. His gaze sweeps over James’s form from head to toe, lingering over his boots with genuine enjoyment.

“And here I thought I would have to convince you to accept them.” He says as he and James walk into the study together.

“You would have.” James admits. “But something changed my mind.”

“Oh? Well, now you’ve intrigued me.” Thomas waits expectantly. "Please elaborate at once."

“If I accept the boots, you have to accept this.” James draws the book out of his coat and holds it out. It’s not the same monetary worth of course, but the principle is the same in his eyes.

“James...There was no need.”

“Please.” James offers him the book. “Just take it.”

Thomas sighs, but at last accepts it from his hand. He starts to set it down on the table beside the fireplace when James clears his throat awkwardly.

“There’s an inscription.”

Thomas glances at him, and then opens the first page to read it. His eyes linger on the words written there until James can’t bear it any longer and turns to watch the fire instead. It’s burning low, but he still feels heat rising in his cheeks.

Thomas closes the book and sets it down. He comes over to stand beside James in silence.

At last James gives in and looks at him to find Thomas considering him with an unreadable expression.

 “I can’t return once you’ve written in it.”

“I know.” James says quietly. “And I can’t return these boots once I’ve worn them.”

Any embarrassment or pride he had had over accepting a gift is gone in the light of Thomas’s smile. It’s all worth it when James sees that.

“That’s truly how you feel?” Thomas murmurs.

James blinks. Feelings have nothing to do with it, do they? He searches Thomas’s eyes, trying to ascertain what he’s supposed to say to that. “Yes.”

At that Thomas smiles even wider. “Very well. if you accept the gift of the boots, I will accept the book.”

James inclines his head. He expects to leave it there, along with the tremulous feeling fluttering in his breast. He doesn’t particularly want to explore it further. It can only mean uncomfortable admissions. If he ever admitted to care for the Hamiltons (for he admires the both of them) he would have to ask the admiralty to replace him at once. It would be too hard otherwise.

But as he watches Thomas, James already knows he won’t do that. He knows it as they talk until it’s time for dinner. He knows it as he watches Miranda laughing at Thomas’s comment over something amusing he heard earlier in the day. He knows it as they finish dinner and Miranda’s hand brushes his in a light affectionate gesture. He will hold it on to this as long as he has it, refusing to relinquish it any sooner than he has to.

“Those are very fine boots, Lieutenant.” Miranda murmurs as James bows to her as they take their leave to retire to the library.

James flushes. “My lady, I…”

“I know.” She says, with a slight smile. “Who do you think told him how fine they would look upon your calves?”

James’s mouth is as dry as the desert, and he turns away quickly.

Unfortunately, he catches Thomas’s eyes just then and knows he heard the whole thing. James debates what to say as Thomas pours them each a brandy.

Thomas speaks first. “Miranda doesn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“She doesn’t, my lord.” James hesitates. It’s not entirely true, but the manner in which he’s made uncomfortable by the compliment is not the sort of discomfort Thomas means. So that’s all James says and leaves it at that.

“Thomas.”

“Thomas.” James says with the slightest murmur of a smile. “It’s more… _I_ am more concerned with what someone else would say.” He looks directly at Thomas. “How you perceive it.” 

He’s nearly certain that Thomas doesn’t mind in the slightest when Miranda flirts with him; if anything Thomas seems to enjoy it. There is nothing in Miranda’s manner to suggest that she and Thomas are not blissfully content, but he wouldn’t do anything to harm either of them, if he can help it. He must know he’s right.

“You are very considerate.” Thomas murmurs. “And you may rest assured, James, that when my wife pays you a compliment, it is entirely with my knowledge and…if I may say, my agreement.”

James swallows. His collar is too tight, his throat too dry again in spite of the brandy. “Thank you for telling me that.”

He has to look away then. Thomas’s eyes are too piercing. He will see what James can’t allow himself to reveal.

“What would you like to borrow this time?” Thomas inquires. “I have an astonishing scientific, well, it’s science and fiction, but it's enjoyable and I think you’d like it.” He takes a sip of brandy. “ _The Man in the Moone_.”

“You’ll loan me another book after I just ruined one?” James can’t hide his astonishment.

“Of course. My entire library is at your disposal.”

“Why?” James asks.

“Why?” Thomas asks in surprise. “Why not?”

“You are the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met.” James says without meaning to. He flushes, but he can’t leave it there because it could be inferred as an insult and there is nothing he means less than to insult Thomas, ever. “And I mean that in the truest sense of the word, Thomas.”

He’s rewarded with an incandescent, affectionate smile. “You’re quite extraordinary yourself.”

James shakes his head and looks at the bookshelves, the fire, the brandy, his hands, anywhere but at the man who can make his entire body yearn with anticipation, with longing.

“A toast.” Thomas murmurs. “To friendship and the sharing of books.” The firelight gleams on his hair and the shadows dance across his lips.

“To friendship.” James repeats, and knows he’s lost.


End file.
